Rivett turned the volume up on the television.
“…demonstrators seem to have overtaken the FedAPS station and say they are now taking matters into their own hands,” Limen narrated. “As you can see, many are exacting their own form of justice on the Marines for yesterday’s killing. Gloria, can you see that?”
“No, Story, what is it?”
“Down there. No, to the left.” Story’s directions to his cameraman were broadcast on live television. The Marines witnessed anarchists throwing a long white nylon rope over the arm of a street post that held a traffic light at its end. “Gloria”–Limen strained his voice with feigned concern–“it appears the activists, demanding justice, are…Oh my!” Limen dramatically gasped as a rope was tightened around Kruschinsky’s neck and his body was hoisted up. “Gloria, as you can see, the mood here is one of anger and vengeance. After yesterday’s attacks and the news of what FedAPS is now officially calling treason on the part of the Marine Corps…”
Rivett turned the volume down.
“What the hell is going on?” McCurry asked, confused by what he’d just seen on TV and the effects of his hangover.
“Forget turning ourselves in.” Rivett looked at the others. “This ain’t some kind of misunderstanding. It’s war.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Janice!” Limen greeted his producer with a giant smile. “You’re a genius. If I ever doubt you again, you have permission to scold me.”
“You’re welcome. When you’re a big star in the FedAPS network, remember who got you there.” Wayne smiled back, giving no credit to her contact in the Office of Balanced Media.
“There’s no way Vogel’s story of burned-out, destroyed Marine bases can compete. This is the kind of stuff that wins awards.” Limen could not contain his enthusiasm.
“Do you know that he didn’t talk to anyone else about this?”
“No, sir. He shook the tail I had on him. He is good,” Stewart admitted to Mythers. “My source in Peace Village confirmed the Forge-Martel meeting. But I cannot confirm that Forge has only shared that information with us.”
“Hmmm.” Mythers, lost in thought, stared at the media coverage of the burning FedAPS station on TV. The network cut to a shot of one of the Marines hanging from a street post, dead. Then it switched to a live broadcast of demonstrators kicking and spitting on the naked corpse of Michael Kruschinsky in celebration of his death. “What’s your impression of this Pablo Martel?”
“Sir, he’s been very effective in the last twenty-four hours,” Stewart said.
“No doubt about that, Gavin. He could be a very fine addition. Do you agree?”
“Yes, sir. Completely,” Stewart honestly replied.
“Get somebody good on Martel. Then stand by for further orders. We’ll see where we’re at with that in the next twenty-four hours. Meanwhile, we need to take advantage of the opportunity Martel has provided for us.”
“This is crazy. Is the world coming to an end?” Jacob Pennell’s question sounded like hyperbole to his own ears, but he asked in all earnestness.
“I don’t know,” Hannah Tse replied, frightened. Twenty-four hours earlier, she thought her world had been turned upside down. Now after listening to the news on the car radio, she felt her world was falling apart.
“With the media fabricating the Cuppell story, I have to wonder if they’re making this up about the Marines.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it at this point.” Hannah stared out the car window while Jacob headed north on Interstate 5. “But they can’t fake the destruction of a whole battalion or a FedAPS agency.”
She wondered just to whom she could report her information about Cuppell’s murder.
The timing of these events is too coincidental, Hannah thought. Who has the power to make this happen? Can I stop anyone, or anything, with that much power?
“Jacob, I’m sorry I got you into this,” Hannah apologized. She felt guilty for exploiting Pennell’s attraction to her to get a ride to her aunt’s house.
“…during Leakey’s attempt at gun control,” Edwards cited the former US President, “he’s got a load of weapons stashed away on our farm in the Ozarks.”
“I’ve heard my dad say–” Rivett grinned “–Leakey’s gun grab did more to boost gun sales than any event in American history.”
“Exactly. My dad stashed a lot of weapons and ammo. He had no inclination to give up his guns. Said he’d become an outlaw first.”
“How do you know he still has them, or will let us use them?” McCurry asked. His hangover made him skeptical as well as irritated. “What if he wants us to turn ourselves in?”
“He’s an old jarhead. He’ll go to war over this.”
“Missouri is a long way from here,” Harris countered, to Edwards’s surprise. “And if we do get there, then what? I say we make our stand here.” Harris pointed towards the TV screen showing footage of social activists holding up signs that read Fight Injustice, while people in the background destroyed and looted property. “Plenty of folks here to kill.”
“Harris has got a point,” Rivett agreed, then looked directly at Edwards. “Look, my dad did the same thing during the Leakey years. In fact, we’ve got multiple caches of weapons and food throughout our family’s ranch, spread out over several hundred acres. It’s large enough for us to hide on while we figure out what to do next.”
“Where’s your ranch?” McCurry asked between sips of coffee.
“Skull Valley, Arizona,” Rivett answered.
“Seriously?” McCurry looked incredulous, and irritated, having spilled some coffee upon hearing the name.
“How far is it from here?” Edwards asked.
“From what I remember, it’s about a six- or seven-hour drive or so. Now, with the checkpoints and the city somewhat locked down, who knows? Getting out of the city is going to be the hard part.”
“Look, man, if we’re going down, I’d rather do it fighting than getting picked up at a checkpoint, or pulled over on a Greyhound, or something like that,” Harris argued.
“Who the hell says we’re going down?” Edwards angrily shot back. “This isn’t about making some kind of vain last stand, we’re living to fight another day.”
“Who, exactly, are we going to fight?” McCurry jumped back in the conversation. “We going to take out all of FedAPS? WAR? President Tang? The best thing to do may just be to disappear. Let them forget about us.”
“There ain’t going to be no forgetting,” Harris spat back. “They hate us. They’ll spend the rest of their lives convincing themselves they’re heroes for destroying us.”
“He’s right,” Edwards declared. “McCurry, you want out? Leave. But make no mistake, FedAPS cannot afford to have us alive.”
“Why?” McCurry asked.
“Because we’re a contradiction to their story. For whatever reason FedAPS firebombed Horno and the whole area, it wasn’t because 1/1 was mounting an offensive. Listen, Marines”–Edwards felt the need to use the term more than ever–“we’ve got a window of opportunity here. FedAPS thinks we’re dead. We’ve got to get out and get armed. Then we take the fight to them.” Edwards looked directly at Harris. “Who’s with me?”
“I’m in,” Harris replied without hesitation.
“Me too,” Rivett threw in.
“Yeah, I’m in,” McCurry answered less enthusiastically than the others, while trying to rub his headache away.
“Listen,” Rivett proposed. “Going back to what Harris said earlier, those social justice warriors at Peace Village”–Rivett described with sarcasm–“need killing, but they’re also a resource. We take some of them out. We take their cars, their phones, their credit cards, cash, or whatever. If we act fast enough, we can get to Arizona without anybody noticing.”
“So we pass ourselves off as a bunch of peace-loving college brats going back home,” McCurry said, still sounding skeptical.
“The next question is how to get downtown?” Edwards moved the conver
sation forward. “FedAPS may be letting people on the streets now but they’re supposed to still have the downtown area blocked off.”
“Like McCurry said, we pass ourselves off as radicals going to the protest,” Harris said, smiling at McCurry’s look of bewilderment.
“Yeah,” Rivett agreed. “FedAPS is making no attempt to stop any of them from destroying the city. Maybe they’re letting them come and go as they please?”
“We could just slip into Balboa Park and blend in with the rest of the protesters,” Harris concluded.
“I like it.” Edwards nodded. “I’d prefer to wait till dark, but I think delaying at this point is a greater risk than moving in daylight.”
All the Marines grunted and nodded in agreement with Edwards.
“I don’t suppose Mackenzie would just let you borrow her car?” Harris said jokingly.
“Yeah. That’s a whole other can of worms.” Edwards rubbed his forehead in dread of that upcoming conversation. He did like her very much, but they had not dated very long. Edwards questioned how much he could trust her. Another concern was the fallout with FedAPS if they found out she had helped them. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s best if we leave before she and Sarah wake up. What’s the benefit of bringing them in on this?”
“Bring us in on what?” Mackenzie sounded irritated as she walked into the living room on her way to the kitchen for coffee.
“Oh, hey, good morning,” Edwards said awkwardly.
“Vann the man!” FedAPS Agent Lefcourt joyfully accepted the hot cup of coffee his partner had brought him. “Just what I needed.”
“No doubt. What a long night! I’ll tell you though, I’d rather be manning a check over here than in the downtown area,” Agent Vann confessed. “While I was getting coffee at the command post, I heard guys saying it’s been crazy downtown. A lot of destruction.”
“At least the protesters have been content to stay in the no-go zone and destroy buildings there.”
“No, get this. They broke through the northwest line. Protesters attacked one of our stations!”
“Why the hell would they do that?” Lefcourt was dubious. “Is that confirmed?”
“Oh, it’s confirmed,” Vann stated. “They killed some of our agents and lynched three Marines being held there.”
“Bastards!” Lefcourt exclaimed.
“Yeah, well, they’ll be getting theirs. Lieutenant Varma told me we’ll be going in sometime after sunset, when curfew is in effect. And–” Vann paused and smiled “–the media is being ordered out of the no-go zone and Peace Village.”
Lefcourt just looked at him, too insecure to verbally commit to a conclusion.
“Word is,” Vann concluded, “General Sanger is going to let us take them down hard.”
“Hell yeah. Any word on…” Lefcourt stared in surprise for moment. “Look at that shit.”
“What?” Vann turned around to see what Lefcourt was looking at. He saw a young woman followed by two men crossing the street, a few blocks down into the no-go zone towards Peace Village. “Coming to the party a little late, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, who cares? Look, there go two more. Maybe they were out trying to score drugs,” Lefcourt hypothesized.
“Or four guys chasing one tail?” Vann grinned. “Either way, nobody’s supposed to be going in. Should we go bust ’em?”
“Screw it,” Lefcourt shrugged. “I’m going to drink my coffee while it’s hot. Besides, the more of them go in, the more our guys can kill later.”
“What the hell?” Even in a low voice, there was no mistaking Edwards’s displeasure.
“I told you, we just walk across like nothing is wrong. We’ve got a right to go wherever we want,” Mackenzie defended her actions. “If they’re letting people burn down the city, why wouldn’t they let people go to the park?”
“Ain’t like there’s been martial law or anything.” Harris quipped. An angry look from Edwards told him to stay quiet.
“They definitely saw us cross. No doubt, they just ain’t doing anything about it.” Rivett’s casual body language belied the concern in his voice.
“You sure you’re really prepared for this?” Edwards asked Mackenzie. “It may be your last chance to turn back.”
“I told you, I can handle it.” She stared at Edwards. “Besides, without me, who will you use as a hostage?”
“I feel like a jackass with this nasty knit cap on my head,” Harris complained.
“That’s ’cause you look like a jackass,” McCurry shot back.
“I’ll trade you my hooded jacket,” Rivett offered. “It smells like someone pissed all over it.”
“No, thanks.” Harris pulled out a cigarette and lit up.
It was Mackenzie’s idea they to stop by Lulu’s and raid the bar’s lost and found for clothing they could use as camouflage among the rioters. In fact, despite the years of combat experience amongst the four Marines, it was Mackenzie who had devised a major part of their escape plan based on her years of experience as a waitress and bartender.
She speculated that most of the demonstrators at Peace Village were more likely interested in drugs, alcohol, and hooking up for sex than they were in protesting. She conjectured under such circumstances, an abundance of lost, discarded, or forgotten backpacks and purses containing clothes, phones, cash, and car keys could be found throughout Peace Village. In short, they could find everything they needed to get to Arizona.
“The place looks pretty dead compared to what we’ve seen on TV,” Rivett said, casually looking around the area.
“They’re probably worn out from rioting all night,” McCurry said in half jest.
“Stay focused, devil dogs,” Edwards commanded. “Let’s comb through the camp for supplies. Then we’ll find a quiet place to crash. We’re going to have a long night ahead of us.”
Sanchez took a long look at the dead Marine hanging from the streetlight. After several hours of abuse and desecration, the body was now a hideous shadow of what it had been in life. He turned away in disgust. Not because he thought the Marine’s death was an injustice, but rather he found it unsightly. Though he had worked hard through the night to appear as the man, the leader, who was everywhere in the protest, he did not follow the mobs that dragged and desecrated the corpses of the two other Marine prisoners.
Without evidence, he feared Martel might have perpetrated the attack on the FedAPS station. He hoped he was wrong, but he couldn’t believe the average protester had the skill or the courage to raid a federal law enforcement station.
Forge has the skill and knows the people, Sanchez told himself. But why? Could he have rogue agents? Some of Cuppell’s people wanting revenge? Possible. Sanchez shook his head. His gut told him it was Martel. The viciousness of the attack was typical of Martel’s style.
What will this do to my connection with Forge? With the White House? Sanchez worried. The whole objective of this event was to orchestrate our victimhood, not the Marines’.
He reached for his vibrating phone to read the message he received. It was word for him to leave the protest, return to Peace Village, and quietly round up the people he considered essential.
FedAPS is coming in to make arrests, Sanchez concluded. No wonder, after they murdered the Marines. Pablo, you fucking savage idiot! I’m not going down for your stupidity.
Sanchez stared at his phone, hesitating to hit send and pass on the warning to his people, one of whom was Martel.
The movement could always use more martyrs. Sanchez smiled at his own joke. However, he passed on the warning. Not so much out of a sense of loyalty to Martel, but from a dependence. I still have a long ladder to climb, Sanchez reminded himself. I may still have use for Martel yet.
“Story, time to wrap it up.”
“Are you kidding? It’s not even dusk. You know the protest picks up after dark. The attack on the FedAPS station and the assault on the Marine prisoners–it’s got everyone revved up. This is gold. Why quit now?” Limen whined to h
is producer.
“Sorry, Story. This comes directly from the Office of Balanced Media. They’re ordering all media out. They don’t want cameras here. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what that means. If you don’t want to sink your rising star, you’ll do as you’re told on this one,” Janice warned.
“All right,” Limen continued to whine. “Freedom of the press, what a joke.”
“I tell you, we might have to take up this outlaw business full-time.” Harris marveled over the bounty harvested from the protesters’ camp.
“We may not have a choice,” Edwards replied.
“Don’t get down about it. We’ll get this worked out.” Mackenzie tried to sound encouraging. Edwards didn’t take the time to tell her he wasn’t venting frustration, but stating fact.
How the hell does she see this getting worked out? Harris wondered, but kept his thoughts to himself.
It was a good day of pilfering for the Marines. After a full night of rioting, drinking, drugs, and sex, Peace Village appeared to be a virtual ghost town. By midmorning most were still sleeping. Many backpacks and coolers had been theirs for the taking. Now clad in black hooded sweatshirts, caps, and red bandanas, they blended in with the WAR crowd. They acquired some food and water but found little cash to get them to Arizona. McCurry, half jesting, suggested they sell the cell phones and drugs they’d found in the packs. It turned out to be a profitable joke.
“I don’t know if we got a good deal for the stuff or not, but we’ve got just over eleven hundred dollars, not counting whatever Rivett and McCurry bring in. But the nine mil I found in that backpack is pure gold right now,” Harris crowed. Their scavenging had brought in knives, brass knuckles, and several cans of mace. He, however, was the only one to find a pistol.
“It’s a good start,” Edwards agreed. “Good thing these peace protesters are so well armed. Who knows how Arizona’s going to go down? Either way, we’ll need money and more guns.”
“Once we get someplace safe, and people find out you’re innocent, things are going to settle down,” Mackenzie said. Harris thought her optimism was too forced, but kept his mouth shut.
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